


If Wishes Were Horses

by droosy



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Fusion, Gen, Horses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8743519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/droosy/pseuds/droosy
Summary: Taako and Magnus temporarily become a single being to save a village from a rampaging monster.





	1. Hot And Fresh Out The Kitchen

Hey! Real quick, who are you? This is your first time here, in the world, and you’re not used to Being. You’ve never Been before. All you really know is that there’s a guy named Magnus, and a guy named Taako, and that you’re some kind of amalgam of a guy named Magnus and a guy named Taako.

 

Well, now that you exist, you should probably have a name of your own. But you’re not gonna go with some bullshit like Magnaako. No, this one’s gotta come from the heart.

 

Your name is Pork Pockets.

 

Yeah—oh man, you’re feeling it. You’re living your truth, Pork Pockets, and your truth is that you are a cool, cool party dude whose name is Pork Pockets.

 

You’re in the middle of a field, and it’s full of dandelions—the hairy silver ones that only grow during the summer—and you’re in front of a big, big marble fountain topped with a life-size statue of two figures, an elf and a human. The human has his arm around the elf’s shoulder. The statue is really nice compared to the rest of the fountain, which looks like it’s seen better days.

 

Standing next to you is an older dwarven man with dated eyeglasses, flowers in his beard, and an arm that seems like it’s made of bark. He looks at you, then at the fountain, then back at you. He puts his hands on his hips like, “Huh!”

 

“Uh—hail and well met, old timer,” you say. You don’t really know what kind of relationship, if any, you’re supposed to have with this dude, so you’re not sure whether to go for a hug or a handshake. You settle for a hair tousle.

 

“Eesh. That’s one hell of a voice you got there,” he says, smoothing out his hair. “Never—never heard a gravelly falsetto before.”

 

“So, um, what’s your name, compadre?” you ask him. “Who are you, what’s your story?”

 

“Oh, man, you really _don’t_ have any of their memories,” he says.

 

“Yeah, bud. I only know what’s on Magnus’ and Taako’s character sheets,” you tell him. “I might need you to connect some dots.”

 

“Kind of a tall order… I guess I’ll start with me,” he says. “My name is Merle Highchurch. I’m a cleric. Me, Magnus and Taako, we all work together as ██████████ at the █████████████████.” He puts his hands on his hips. “That’s the broad-strokes version, anyway.”

 

“How—You just made static with your mouth, how did you _do_ that?” you ask. “Is that some kind of, of forbidden throat-singing technique? Can you teach me?”

 

“…Ah, shit, yeah, I guess you wouldn’t be able to hear that,” says Merle. “Listen, don’t worry about it. It won’t be important for this sidequest.” He leads you away from the fountain.

 

“Oh, for the love of balls—! I’m here on a _sidequest?”_

 

He sighs. “’Fraid so, Taagnus.”

 

“My name’s Pork Pockets!”

 

“Oh, good.”

 

* * *

 

“So fill me in, pops,” you say to Merle. You’re climbing up a steep, grassy hill. “What’s the situation, what are we fighting and/or saving?”

 

“We’re fighting something called the Dobbin of Kimberwick. And we’re _saving_ something called the _town_ of Kimberwick,” he says. “Apparently, you’re the only one who can defeat it. I’m just here as a glorified chaperone.”

 

“Uh-huh! Uh-huh! What’s a Dobbin?” you ask.

 

“I don’t know, some kind of giant creature,” says Merle. “—Some kind of kaiju. Ryland said it was like a big veiny dog with mallets for feet.”

 

“Ooh, I’m loving it so far!…” You have no idea who this Ryland fool is, but you’re not about to ask, seeing as the ground is starting to shake.

 

You hoist Merle onto your shoulders and sprint to the top of the hill. Below you, in the distance, is a little village. You see smokestacks, you see thatched roofs, you see linen awnings. You see overturned carts and rickshaws. You see people running and screaming. And finally you see it: the Dobbin of Kimberwick.

 

“Oh, son of a—” shouts Merle. “THAT’S A FUCKING HORSE!”

 

He’s right. It _is_ a fucking horse. But it’s a really, really big one, like ten times the size of just a regular big horse. It’s rearing while flaming arrows fly at it left and right. You gasp and bring your hand up to your mouth. “They’re going to _kill_ him!…”

 

“Not at this rate,” says Merle. “That’s where we come in.”

 

“What the fuck—NO!! I don’t want to _hurt_ it! Look at it! It’s fucking _majestic!”_ you say. “No, no, absolutely not. We’re doing this _my_ way.”

 

“Which is?”

 

You look out onto the village and crack a little smirk. “…We’re gonna ride this bitch into the sunset.”


	2. Ain't No Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merle and Pork Pockets want answers. Spoiler: they don't find any.

Alright, so you roll up to the village of Kimberwick with your new BFF Merle. Everyone’s gathered in front of what looks like the tallest building in town, a faded yellow temple with two domed bell towers and a sign out front that says “First Hadenite Chapel of Kimberwick.” It’s almost as tall as the giant, beautiful white horse that’s towering over the village. There’s archers shooting at it, but the horse doesn’t look hurt so much as really, really, terrified. It’s just frozen with fear. You see people rolling out cannons.

 

“We gotta convince the townfolk to stop attacking the Dobbin before they seriously hurt 'im,” you say to Merle.

 

“Well, maybe the Magnus half of you could deploy some of that good ol’ Rustic Hospitality.”

 

“You mean Rustic HORSEpitality.”

 

Merle bursts out laughing. “Yes—God, but don’t let the villagers hear you making puns like that,” he tells you. “They’ve got enough problems as it is.”

 

Someone shoots an arrow at the Dobbin's snout and it lets out just this agonizing squeal. You grab Merle and kind of hold him out in front of you, like a man-shield, and push your way to the front of the crowd. People are starting to look at you, but you don’t have everyone’s attention just yet, so you do a Charisma check. You roll a 2.

 

“’Sup, boners?” you shout. “Somebody order a hero?”

 

Everyone kind of stares at you uncomprehendingly. A couple of people ignore you and keep firing at the horse.

 

“Wait a minute,” you hear someone murmur. “The coin—that looks just like Haskel’s.” The archers lower their bows in astonishment. You look down at the gold coin hanging from a red ribbon around your neck. It’s one of those coins with the square holes in the middle. You’ve actually been wearing it this whole time and kind of forgot to mention it until just now, but hey, you were kind of busy.

 

Now everyone in the crowd is whispering about you. You can’t really hear what anyone’s saying, but you can tell they’ve somehow figured out what you are.

 

“I think these folks might have some useful information,” Merle says to you, grinning. “And you know what that means!”

 

“I super don’t.”

 

Merle winks at you and says, in a stage whisper, “I cast ZONE OF TRUTH!” The crowd narrowly fails their collective Wisdom saving throw, and now everyone looks just slightly disoriented.

 

Merle whistles really loud, and it gets most of the people’s attention. “Alright!” he shouts. “Now, who’s this Haskel?”

 

“Why, Haskel was the amalgamation of Ryland and Fione! She singlehandedly drove the White Dobbin out of our village almost thirty years ago!…” answers an older woman from the crowd. She says a bunch of other stuff, but it’s all just about how great Haskel was, and how hot Haskel was, so while she’s talking you and Merle have a little sidebar.

 

“Did Ryland mention _any_ of this to you?” you ask him.

 

“No! Hand to God, this is the first I’ve heard of Haskel _or_ Fione,” he says. “We got the coins, we got the map, and we got the hell out. Ryland made sure of that.”

 

“…Weird,” you say. You loudly interrupt some sonnet the old woman is reciting about the color of Haskel’s eyes. “OK! OK, Can any of you tell us about Fione?” The old woman raises her hand. “…Someone who hasn’t gone yet?”

 

A grizzled dwarf steps forward and clears his throat. “Aye, she was always by Ryland’s side… that’s all anyone really knows—they kept to themselves, those two. Always in their own little world.

 

“Haden knows what became of poor Fione,” he continues, solemnly. “Ryland hasn’t been the same ever since she disappeared. Hasn’t so much as paid a visit.” You hear sighs and little prayers from the crowd. You’re losing ’em, Pockets. Better cut to the chase.

 

You cup your hands around your mouth. “SIMPLE VILLAGE FOLK! What’s the deal with this big ol’ horse??”

 

“Big ol’ WHAT?” comes a shout from the crowd.

 

Maybe you ought to raise your voice for the people in the back. “HORSE. This horse, the one I’m pointing to?”

 

“What did he—a harse?” says somebody toward the front. “A heorse? Speak Common, squire.”

 

You bend down to whisper to Merle. “…Do these—do these people not know what a horse is?”

 

“Seems like it. And you know, I’m starting to think that Ryland didn’t either,” Merle sighs. “This is getting us nowhere. I’m gonna do an arcana check.” He holds up one finger and kind of glances around, like he’s testing the wind. “Mm… nope, I’m not getting anything,” he sighs. “Something’s off. I know that much.”

 

“Yeah, no kidding,” you say. “It’s a horse, and it’s six stories high. Something’s _definitely_ off, my man.”

 

“Hey, what do you want from me? Sometimes in life you get a bad roll. Not my fault.”

 

You sigh. “Can’t be helped, I suppose,” you say. “Now, enough fiddly-fartin’ around. Let’s get _on_ this nerd.”

 

“We’re really gonna ride it, then,” Merle says.

 

“Yeah, I mean—why not, right?” you say.

 

“…Well, you’re the birthday boy. I guess we’re gonna do it your way.”

 

You clap your hands. “Haha, yayy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hadenism" is none other than the mango religion Travis accidentally invented in MBMBaM episode 242: In The Mouth Of Mango. It's named after the Haden cultivar of mango!


	3. Telepathic Telegraph: Not Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pork Pockets comes face-to-face with the Dobbin, and he brought a new friend.

OK, OK. All you really got from talking to the villagers was a bunch of cryptic flavor text. That whole last chapter was _basically_ pointless. But now you get to ride the Dobbin out of Kimberwick, and everyone knows the only thing more gratifying than saving an entire town is a free horsey ride.

 

“…Alright,” you say to Merle. “I’m gonna cast Reduce on this noble fuckin’ creature.” You do that. But actually, you don’t do that, because the spell fails.

 

“Ahh, guess you don’t have Magnus’ luck,” says Merle. “But hey, if we can’t bring this thing down to _our_ level…” A broom materializes in his hand. “This baby can hold both of us, so don’t you worry.” He’s right; you manage to squeeze on OK.

 

Merle shouts “HANG TEN!” and the broom starts rising. You look down at the crowd as it gets smaller and smaller. This must be what the horse feels like. You gotta say, it’s pretty rad.

 

As you’re pretending to squoosh someone’s head between your thumb and forefinger, the broom enters a nose dive. “Merle…!”

 

“—Huh? Oh, shit!” He regains control of the broom. You’re almost high enough to get on the Dobbin’s back now, but Merle’s looking pretty distracted and a little sick.

 

“Look, Merle, it’s all right, just—drop us off in that bell tower and you can catch your breath,” you tell him. “We don’t wanna fall from this height. The tower’s right there—you can do it.”

 

“OK,” he says. He sounds out of breath. He starts to swerve, and for a split second you’re terrified you’re gonna crash into the tower. You actually get thrown from the broom, but you grab onto Merle and somehow manage to safely tumble into the belfry together. Probably the work of Magnus’ luck or Taako’s _insane_ Acrobatics modifier.

 

“Merle! Merle, are you OK?” you say. He’s lying on his side and he looks sort of pained, but, aside from a few scratches and a missing limb, he doesn’t seem injured.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Sorry, sorry.”

 

As you’re helping him to his feet, you hear the horse kind of snort, and it brings its face really fucking close to the belfry. You didn’t know that horses had rectangular pupils. This isn’t how you wanted to find out.

 

Merle, weirdly, is even more rattled than you are. He’s fallen down again, and now he’s clutching his head and mumbling something in Dwarvish that you can barely understand. As a wise cleric once said, something’s off. You try casting Detect Magic.

 

You roll a natural 20.

 

Immediately, you realize that the Dobbin somehow knows, somehow remembers every single wish that’s ever been made—every eyelash, every wishbone, every shooting star. And whenever someone gets close enough to look it in the eye, every wish they’ve ever made comes rushing back. The wishes that seem funny in retrospect, the wishes they regret ever making, the wishes that never came true.

 

And you realize that, in your very short life, you’ve never made a single wish. This creep’s got _nothin’_ on you.

 

Riding it is probably not an option at this point, but you think you still can get rid of the Dobbin without having to fight it. It takes you a minute, but you remember that you have Phantom Steed. Maybe the Steed and the Dobbin could have a horse-to-horse chat. Talk some sense into this bozo.

 

You hop from the belfry onto the roof of the temple and roll up your sleeves. You focus really, really hard, and a ball of light takes form around your fist, but it’s kind of flickering, like a weak flame. You squint and try to just block out everything else—the people, the Dobbin, Merle, everything—and suddenly a huge beam of light issues from your arm, almost knocking you back. There’s a brief flash, then your steed is standing in front of you. Kind of.

 

See, he’s not really _standing—_ he’s not really even a horse. This motherfucker has positively no legs and no face to speak of. He’s one big stump, and he’s accompanied by this awful, awful MIDI version of Erasure’s “Always.” It’s a lot to take in, and hear, and look at. You start screaming, just involuntarily, and you keep screaming for another couple of paragraphs.

 

The Dobbin takes one look at this fucking flesh-oblong and it rears so high it almost falls over. You feel the ground move as it kicks its back hooves. The people below start loading their cannons.

 

But before they can shoot, the Dobbin rears again and starts running. No joke, straight _booking it_ away from you and your horrifying pony-tube. It reaches the outskirts of town and just keeps going. The villagers start cheering.

 

Well, you didn’t get to ride that bitch into the sunset, but you’re gonna go ahead and call this a qualified success.

 

“PORK POCKETS! WHAT THE SHIT IS THAT??” You turn around to see Merle leaning over the railing of the belfry. He looks healthier and angrier than ever.

 

“Well, it’s _supposed_ to be my Phantom Steed,” you tell him. “But I think technically it’s more of a potato.”

 

“Lord help this—” he says. “Well, you’re only half Taako, so I guess it makes sense that you can only summon half of Garyl.”

 

“Oh, does it? Does it make sense? I just—fuckin’—gave birth to this, this giant stubbed toe over here…!!” you say. “I wanna go home, Merle. Put me back in the fountain.”

 

You wave your hand, and the Half-Steed disappears in a puff of smoke with a sound kind of like a dry wheeze. It’s the worst. “Yeah, looks like it’s time to go,” says Merle. “Those villagers are looking mighty pissed.”

 

He’s not wrong. The Dobbin definitely trampled a bunch of those thatched-roof cottages when it ran away, and they’re probably gonna try to pin that on you.

 

Merle summons his broom. “Come on, let’s get you home,” he says. “I’ll try not to crash this time.”

 

You pause as you take his hand. “…Actually, Merle, before I leave… could you take me to a farm or something? I need to see an animal that’s still got most of its shit attached.”

 

“Of course. Whatever you want, Pockets,” he says. “God knows you’ve earned it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have guessed, this chapter has ANOTHER MBMBaM reference, this time from episode 175: Torsey. 
> 
> Oh, yeah, and the whole conceit of a giant horse is a reference to the Skyrim episode of Monster Factory, where they use console commands to make their guy's horse really big. This whole thing is just a love letter to the McElroy oeuvre.


	4. I Threw A Wish In The Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merle and Pockets roll to chill.

After an hour or so of wandering, you and Merle find a quiet homestead with a big old farmhouse and two ladies who cheerfully welcome you to stroll around their estate. It’s late afternoon and the sun is really bright. Merle has you stop and listen to some birds off in the distance. “They’re turtledoves!” he tells you.

 

You and Merle are hanging out by the pasture, looking for horses of the Entire variety, when a huge fluffy dog comes barreling toward you. It looks like it could bite your head off, but it just runs up and licks your hand and looks up at you with these big milk-chocolate puppy eyes.

 

You kneel down and wipe your hand off on your shirt. “Oh, you’re a cute little bastard, aren’t you?” you say as you gently pull his ears. “Look at you. You big, dumb asshole. I love you.” You give him a little smooch on the head.

 

“I see you’ve inherited Magnus’ love of dogs,” says Merle.

 

“He likes dogs?”

 

“Oh yeah. Big fan,” he says. “To say the least.”

 

You’re petting the dog’s belly now. You’ve decided to call him Sweet Daniel. “It’s weird. I know who Magnus and Taako are _—_ I mean, they’re _me._ But without their memories… it’s like they’re just strangers to me.” You sigh. “There’s so much missing.”

 

Merle doesn’t say anything. He just kind of pats your back ineffectually.

 

You look at him. “Do you think—Could you tell me more about them?” you ask. “I just… I just wanna know.”

 

Merle sits down on the ground next to you with an old man grunt. “Well…” he says. “Magnus… Magnus, he’s just a—he’s just a big lug. Got a heart of solid gold.

 

“And Taako? Taako’s a real character, I’ll tell you that much. He’s a lot of fun. And he’s full of surprises.” He smiles. “Most of ’em good.”

 

You just found the spot on Sweet Daniel’s tummy that makes him wiggle his leg when you scratch it. “Tell me more about ’em,” you say to Merle. “Tell me—tell me the small things.”

 

“Lemme see…” he says. “Magnus gives good hugs.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“And he’s got a, a hearty laugh.”

 

“What about Taako?”

 

“Taako… He makes a mean macaroon,” says Merle. “And an even better macaron.” Sweet Daniel tries to kiss you on the mouth, but you are having _none_ of it.

 

“He wears these awful footie pajamas,” Merle continues. “And he claps his hands when he’s excited. He sneezes louder than anyone I’ve ever met.” You laugh a little.

 

Merle grins. “Magnus is afraid of spiders,” he says. “He doesn’t know when he’s shouting, and he eats like he doesn’t want to live. And when _he_ sneezes, it’s a little squeak.”

 

You smile back. “Thanks, Merle.”

 

He nods. The two of you just stay there for a while, talking, listening, just you and Merle and Sweet Daniel, until the sun goes down.

 

* * *

 

You find your way back to the fountain a little bit after dusk. It’s a full moon, and all the white marble looks kind of blue in the this light. The water is almost glowing. And with the fireflies and the dandelions and the breeze, it all kind of takes your breath away. It almost makes up for all the equine body horror.

 

“Alright, this inscription says all you gotta do is throw your coin into the fountain. Easy enough,” says Merle. “Are you ready?”

 

You give his hair one last tousle. “I was born ready, amigo.”

 

You remove the necklace and slip the coin off of the red velvet ribbon. “It was nice meeting you, Merle. And hey, if you’re ever in Kimberwick and you need to get rid of another giant horse? I’m there, Pork Pockets’ got you.” You look down at the water, at the statues’ reflection, at your reflection. “Keep it real, Highchurch.”

 

You throw your coin into the fountain, knowing that it’s the last thing you’ll maybe ever do.


	5. But Not Too Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merle says goodbye.

You’re Merle Highchurch, and you just watched a man named Pork Pockets explode into a million flecks of light.

 

The light scatters and rearranges itself into two pillars which take on the shape of Magnus and Taako. Almost immediately, these light-bodies turn back into flecks that fly away on the breeze, revealing Magnus and Taako’s meat-bodies underneath. Around their necks, hanging from red ribbons, are the silver coins that Ryland struck for them, the ones they threw into the fountain at the beginning of this fucking ordeal.

 

Just then, you hear the sound of stone against stone, and the three of you look over at the fountain. The statue isn’t of Magnus and Taako anymore. It looks like it did when you first arrived: two figures—an elf and a halfling—holding hands. Like before, the figure on the left is missing one arm and most of its face. And the one on the right—well, it’s been nagging at you ever since you arrived, and now you’re almost certain that it’s a statue of Ryland.

 

 _Man,_ you can’t wait to leave this hole. You haven’t understood a single thing that’s happened in the past 24 hours.

 

“Taako,” says Magnus. “Hey Taako, that was awesome.”

 

“… _Hell_ yeah!” says Taako. Magnus gives him what looks like kind of a painful high five.

 

“Oh, and Merle was there!”

 

You smile. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

 

Magnus is quiet for a second. “So, wait, Taako—you’ve got all of Pork Pockets’ memories too, right?”

 

“Uh… Oh, dunk—!” says Taako. “I do! What—why is _that_ how it works??” They both look at you like they expect you to have any fucking clue.

 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “…Well, clearly there’s a lot of narrative threads to unravel here, but, as far as I’m concerned, we’ve solved this horse puzzle,” you tell them. “Lore, shmore. I say we go home.”

 

“Word. Let’s get out of here,” says Taako. “Hey, when we get back to HQ, you jokers want some ’sketti?”

 

“Ooh! Please!” says Magnus. “But let’s all just have a moment of silence for Garrrrr. That’s what I’m calling half-Garyl.” God, at this point, a moment of silence is _just_ what the doctor ordered.

 

There’s a copse of trees about fifty yards ahead that looks like a good place to hail your cannonball, and the three of you head toward it. You close your eyes, and for just a moment there’s nothing but the crickets, the bullfrogs, and the wind as it blows through the meadow. See, _this_ is what makes sense to you.

 

You open your eyes and look over your shoulder at the fountain, and you see the fireflies dancing all around it, and, for whatever reason, you smile.

 

Keep it real, Pork Pockets.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys, I ended up inventing a lot more lore than I expected. It was supposed to just be in the background, but I got carried away.
> 
> Anyhow, I'm hoping I can write a sequel—not so much about the lore, but more about where the characters go from here, and how this experience might have changed them. We'll see.


End file.
